A Winter Perpetual
by A Very Thirsty Megalomaniac
Summary: Three vaults were built under the soil of Alaska, specifically designed to be hardier and more isolationist. However, by the year 2291, the best time to face the nuclear winter is long past. Set in Alaska, slightly past New Vegas.
1. Stagnation

_War. War never changes._

_In the late 21__st__ century, that old adage was brought to its natural conclusion when, in a sudden storm of nuclear fire, the world as it had been known ended in a matter of hours. The oldest and most natural conflicts, those waged in the name of territory and resources, had climbed to a peak as the oil dried up, the farms lay barren, and governments became ever more brazen in their attempts to preserve the memories of long past golden ages. Behind closed doors, politicians and scientists alike had debated when the inevitable would occur. Some action would need to be taken._

_In 2054, the U.S. government commissioned the construction of 122 vaults across the United States, officially to safeguard at least some of their people and culture from complete annihilation. One hundred and nineteen vaults had their location designated beneath the soil of the U.S. mainland, from the dry dusts of California, to the rain soaked forests in Maine. _

_And three were built beneath Alaska._

_Though they were not commissioned at the time of the Chinese invasion, or even when the Anchorage frontline had been established, the Communist threat still shadowed these vaults' construction, and two of them were deliberately placed far away from where the fighting was anticipated to be centered. If and when the bombs dropped, it was deemed likely that Alaska, with its still intact oil fields and valuable pipeline, would be exempted as a target._

_In Vault 121, the inhabitants were nevertheless told to expect the worst. The vault door would close, and it was to remain closed until the U.S. remnants, most likely the National Guard, sent a signal. Until then, no one would leave._

_The year is now 2291. The vault overseers have cycled through the old channels, the white noise and empty static quickly going from disturbing to reassuring in its certainty. The vault door remained sealed, the people inside remained safe. Life in the vault looked ill poised to change._

…

The glasses were raised high above their heads in celebration of the catastrophe so comfortably averted all of those hundreds of years ago. Nuka Cola kitchen glasses filled to the brim with Atomic Cocktails, a quaint little joke that the vault's second overseer had come up with before anyone in the Atrium had been born, a joke that had weathered the time creeping by so slowly in the steel halls.

"To another year of life in the vault!" cried Overseer Ingrid Thompson to scattered cheers and applause. Security officer John Kindle could not help but notice that the cheering had been a little quieter, every year, for the last maybe, six years. There had always been some muttering about the celebrations being in "poor taste," but mostly the event was just a big get together that brought people – the entire vault – away from their jobs for a time and gave them a moment to think. Normally the drinking kept the thinking to a minimum, but there would always be some bitching and moaning.

"Second verse, same as the first," Kindle heard someone mutter, turning his head quickly to scan for the perpetrator, "Same damn thing, every time. I've seen too many of these go by…" Kindle smiled to himself as he ID'd the guy in his head: John Bing, 32, maintenance. No harmful intent meant by him, most likely, but he would still have to tell the chief. Rules were rules, after all.

Kindle walked around the edges of the Atrium, taking in the chatter of dozens of exhausted vault dwellers, the clink of glasses, the occasional outbreak of laughter. It made Kindle feel old. He checked the mirror every day, marked every gray hair, every suspected wrinkle. The doctors had reassured him that age 62, Vault medical technology could keep him going (in relative comfort even!) for probably another 50 years, provided he keep exercising as regular as he was while he remained able. But he couldn't help but feel the years to come were going to be a downhill slide.

Another officer, Farley, sidled up to him as he continued to walk around the edge of the Atrium once more.

"Heya," Farley carried an empty glass in one hand, held his Plexiglas helmet under his other arm, "How much longer on your shift?" He lifted the glass, shook it, grinned. "Mine ended three minutes ago."

"Oh you know me," Kindle passed Farley by without a second glance, "I may as well always be on duty." He could almost hear Farley's shrug as he brushed past a worried mother going to check on the kids' celebration upstairs. Kindle had explicitly been given permission not to check on the kids, an ongoing allowance made by the chief for the last dozen or so years. Kindle's head was even now beginning to throb with the noise, so he was far more grateful for that small kindness than he normally would be.

Someone was drunkenly singing "Blue Moon," and doing so surprisingly well. Kindle stopped briefly and even muttered a few half-forgotten lyrics under his breath as he scanned the constantly shifting crowd, his right thumb resting on the holster of his pistol absentmindedly.

"_Without a dream in my heart_…"

_Yup._

Some of the crowd was parting nearby, some of the muttering subsiding as some figure of importance approached his position. Kindle caught a glimpse of an officer's cap, suspected it was the boss. Next came the red nose, the ill-planned goatee that made him look like an old Ralphie the Robot villain, and the shotgun slung over his back that Kindle was beginning to suspect he slept with. Security Chief Terry Cable beckoned him over.

"Boss," Kindle rapped the side of his helmet twice with index and middle finger, the traditional salute. Terry nodded in acknowledgement.

"John. Enjoying yourself? Or still 100%, on duty, all the time?" Cable sniffed, adjusted his cap.

"_You knew just what I was there for…_" The warbling continued, and the singer, whoever he was, sounded almost close to tears.

"More entertainment than usual," Kindle jerked a thumb in the direction of the singing. "Sad drunk?"

"Bradley's sad when he's stone cold sober, don't worry about it. You haven't had anything to drink have you?" Cable put the question casually, but in a quieter tone of voice. Kindle hoped a kid hadn't gotten stuck in an air duct again.

"Not a drop, boss, I'm on duty. Ducts?"

Cable chuckled, snorted again, wiped his nose. "It ain't always the same old same old John. There's some people that ain't here right now. People we been keeping an eye on. You know. Troublemakers. And you know what that makes us?"

"Troublebreakers, boss. What's the action?" There was a flicker of vague excitement in Kindle's chest, frozen in a core of old disappointments. The chief was young, still pretty cavalier, always suspecting some great uprising or digging for some communist takeover. Despite what he said, even being the chief, it usually was the same old same old.

"Not sure. First we check some cameras. Got Diana on it, but we still best check. Of all the troublebreakers here, I'd say you're the one who could most do with a stroll. Ready?" The chief strode off, missing Kindle's nod. He knew the answer. While Kindle appreciated the intent of the chief's gesture – get the old man who hated loud noises away from all the drunk manic-depressives – it was still a fruitless one. Wasn't really anywhere to go. He'd probably still hear that idiot's Blue Moon rattling through the pipes and ventilation.

…

The first overseer of Vault 121 had always denied that the security systems in the vault had been made deliberately superior and more complex compared to vaults back on the mainland. With his eventual death at the hands of some wasting disease, his successor had determined that, in fact, Vault 121 had been issued with surplus wall and floor turrets near the vault entrance, as well as far more cameras than the original vault design had actually mandated. No one was sure why the first overseer felt that secret was worth keeping. It made most people feel safer.

The main security station was located beneath the Atrium, on the fourth level of the vault. The system supplied visual access to all but the two emergency evacuation corridors on the fifth level. The security station itself was a marvel of completely uncreative vault design, a boxy room with each wall lined with monitors arranged alphabetically, and by level. Simple, by the numbers, and completely sterile. Kindle could not help but approve. People's welfare entwined with the promise of violence should that welfare be compromised ought not be stylish. It should be direct.

Diana Romanski was sitting in a steel grey office swivel chair, facing the level two monitors that displayed the Atrium. Her arms rested on the desk below the monitors next to a half empty bottle of the vault's approximation of Nuka Cola. When the doors opened, she swiveled around and almost knocked the bottle over, giving her a sudden jolt and causing her to stand. This understandably did not amuse Cable.

"You spill that crap on those monitors, I'll have you standing in the Atrium eighteen hours a day, reporting to me what you see personally because you busted our goddamn surveillance. We sure as hell don't have the parts to fix it anymore. Got it?"

"Yes, boss," she rapped the side of her head twice, her pale face quickly turning red, "Whatcha here for?"

"Four wayward idiots that have been making a lot of noise lately, and are now nowhere to be seen. Oh, and I brought Kindle because all those loud noises make him cranky," Cable said. Kindle shrugged. He could not deny that statement in all honesty. "Willow, Keller, Stanley, and Haverson. You know the ones?"

"Ah," Diana paused, hesitant. "Would that be Keller the fry cook or Keller in Hydroponics?"

"Hydroponics, the one going on about sustainability. I don't know how many times poor Ingrid is going to have to show everyone in the vault those scans, or listen to that white noise on the emergency channel. There's nothing alive out there. And opening the door without the second half of the military code means the vault enters an emergency state…sometimes I wonder if there are parts of this that they are forgetting." Cable sighed, rubbed his splotchy red temples.

Kindle suppressed a yawn, only half interested. His interest in the outside had faded some time ago. For a long time the idea that he would live and die without seeing the sun, and that his father was willing to do this without complaint. It was only when he was eighteen or nineteen that his father had finally broken through to him, after his mother had died.

"We'll never see the goddamned sun, John," he had said, his callused hands shaking, "Not because of these walls, but because _there ain't a sun left to see_."

Officer Diana Romanski, however, still seemed to hold some of that optimism. "After over two hundred years, you'd think it would be safe. That equipment is so old that-"

The Chief cut her off with an angry wave of his hand. "Later. When the vote comes up, that's the time to discuss it. Like we always have. Right now, we have some angry technicians on the loose. Kindle, let's start checking monitors. Diana, you as well. C'mon people, there should only be about half a dozen people with no security uniform outside of the Atrium…"

They each took different levels, scanning each monitor quickly for their missing targets. Kindle recalled that Keller was gangly and refused to leave the male dorms without his lab coat, and Stanley had been going quite bald lately. The other two he hoped he could recognize on sight, but no defining characteristics came to mind. At any rate, the third level was devoid of irregularities. He passed on to the fifth, scanning. After about five minutes, Cable had had two false starts when he thought he had seen one of them in the dorms, and had since sunk into slight despondency. Diana was humming to herself – Kindle was pretty sure it was "Blue Moon" again. He moved on to level one, which would not take long.

The first level of the vault was mostly taken up by the entrance, with the only other notable features being the overseer's office (well locked and quite empty when Kindle looked), and the medical/science center. It appeared Doctor Bertram was still presiding over the medbay with two nurses, and nothing was amiss there. The corridor leading to the vault entrance was similarly empty, and the vault door was visited maybe once every three months by a bored maintenance crew who kept an eye on the door's integrity and speculated on how radioactive the polar bears must be outside the vault. Kindle almost turned away, except…

Kindle had lived in Vault 121 his entire life. He did not only know every inch that had been lived on, he, and nearly everyone else in the vault for that matter, had inadvertently had their eyes trained to spot any visual deviations from the norm. It was telling that a "Wet Floor" sign in a corridor could actually cause some consternation in the older residents, and discussion regarding the placement of the sign and the reason for its appearance was actually considered a valid and engaging conversation topic. So perhaps it was not so ridiculous that Kindle spotted the flicker of someone's glove in the bottom left corner of the monitor – repeating every two and a half seconds. Kindle did not realize that was exactly what was happening at first, but he nevertheless found it warranted mention to his boss.

"Got something, chief. First floor, vault corridor, bottom left corridor. A, ah, shadow? Keeps going back and forth." He shrugged and shifted away from the front of the monitors as his fellow security officers examined the screens.

"Looks like a hand, glove maybe. You can see part of the Pipboy." Diana squinted. "I think it's looping. I'm just going to reboot that camera real quick…"

It took about twenty seconds. The monitor flickered off, showing a progress bar that seemed to stutter and slow too much for any of their tastes. When the visual returned, Kindle felt a rare lurch in his stomach.

"Bastards," Cable growled. Five figures huddled around the door – Officer Pennywise, stationed to patrol that floor during the celebration, was covering the corridor for the other four figures with his pistol. The schoolteacher lady, Haverson, was fiddling with some sort of strange black device they had fitted on the control panel. "We gotta move. I'm going to have their hides for this…Kindle, Diana, with me."

…

Despite their hurried pace and rather time sensitive situation, Diana still found a moment to ask whether charging in just the three of them was the best idea – that perhaps they should call for backup on the security wavelength. To Kindle's surprise, the Chief actually had a reason, though what they were doing still seemed stupidly cavalier.

"Damn Pennywise is on that wavelength – he'll hear us. And I don't want them getting any more desperate and I _do_ want the element of surprise. We'll have to disable the lot of them. We're close to the medbay – I want arm shots, leg shots, hell, groin shots will do. Far as I'm concerned, they've forfeit their right to goddamn reproduce."

They skipped the elevator. While that could easily be brushed off as being too unreliable, what with there only being three in the vault for the population to share, Kindle suspected that it simply was not dramatic enough for the Chief. They hurried up the stairs to the first floor, Kindle silently lamenting the way his knees were beginning to creak.

When they reached the first floor, the Chief slid his 10mm from his holster. Kindle and Romanski exchanged looks and followed suit. Kindle was somewhat relieved that the chief had not unslung the shotgun on his back, as it was not exactly loaded with beanbags. Despite this breach, they had no desire to outright kill people they had known their whole lives. The three of them strode, armed, from the stairway to the corridor.

"To either side of me, ready?" Security Chief Terry Cable held himself in front of the door, his tongue quickly passing over his unfortunate goatee, over and over. Diana took the left side of the door, looking somewhat ill, and Kindle took the right. He had practiced at the range constantly, Vault 121 had an extensive armory and talented gunsmiths. He had even helped suppress the riot of '78, though he had been using bean bag slugs back then, and the rioters had been mostly taken care of by the vault's turrets. He had no desire to kill. That was something you couldn't take back.

Cable looked to either side of him. Received nods. He hit the door and strode through.

Immediately they were faced with the gaping expanse of the open door at the end of the hall. They had somehow cracked the entrance to the blast door. And if they could do that-

"Shit! V-Sec's here!" The reports of the pistol sounded loud, so loud in these thin steel corridors. Pennywise had taken cover behind the other side of the door and had fired three rounds at – or perhaps simply near – the Chief. Regardless, he wasn't having it.

"You gutless commie sack of shit!" roared the Chief with a fury that Kindle was surprised by, and with a kind of drama that Kindle knew all too well. The Security Chief advanced, bellowing, firing steadily at where Pennywise was crouching. Diana was firing as well, but Kindle could not quite get a line of sight that didn't put Cable at risk so, against his better judgment, he advanced as well, yelling incoherently as he tried to line up a safe shot.

There was a soft thud as the Chief grunted, a puff of red appearing before his chest. He did not appear to notice and emptied the rest of his magazine, the rounds pounding into the thick vault steel around Pennywise harmlessly. He paused when the gun went click and then looked down at the spreading stain on his vest.

"Huh," Cable said before shrugging and falling over. While he did this, Pennywise was darting away, yelling that he needed to reload. Kindle sped forward to the end of the corridor on unsteady legs, preparing himself to raise his sights and try not to shoot Pennywise in the chest.

When he got to the door he found Pennywise in a corner, his arms raised. He had apparently dropped his magazine while reloading, spilling stray rounds all over the floor. Kindle pointedly kept his pistol pointed between Pennywise's legs.

"Where're the others?" Kindle jerked the gun, indicating that Pennywise should kneel, which he did. "Five of you. The other four?"

"Three in Atrium, letting everyone know," Pennywise mumbled, eyes averted, showing the whites quite clearly, "And Keller…freeing us."

Kindle glanced towards the vault controls. A tall man in a lab coat was tapping frantically at some keys on a black device attached to the system. Echoing through the hall behind him, he could hear Diana yelling for help. But Kindle had no time.

"I hear any movement, I put one through your skull," Kindle warned Pennywise, sidling as quickly as he could behind the controls. He pointed the gun at the small of Harry Keller's back. He was tempted to fire a warning shot, but he could not help but be weary of ricochets. Angry as he was, he was not about to maim a lad who could not be more than 23.

"Hands up, Keller. It's over." Keller raised his hands and turned slowly, the cool light of the corridor behind them reflecting the sheen of sweat on his scalp.

"I'm not doing anything! We're done, we're done. Don't shoot!" Keller waved his hands in a manner that he probably hoped was comforting, but in fact just made Kindle twitch, made him almost squeeze the trigger. "You see?! Hands off!"

"I don't know how you idiots set this up, but Pennywise shot Cable. Your ass is burnt up radioactive grass." His father had been fond of that line when Kindle had gotten into trouble as a kid. It had always cracked him up. He wasn't sure why it sprung to mind now, and he almost regretted saying it. It seemed to intimidate Keller though, who let out a nervous giggle.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Maybe you'll forgive us though. Maybe you'll have to." Keller backed himself against the console, arms almost pressed against the sides of the vault control's booth. Kindle couldn't blame him. Men always wondered what they'd do with a gun drawn on them. Kindle, when he was younger, believed the answer would always be fight. The truth was, often the first thing a man did was wet themselves and think about how many wonderful things they would be unable to do with a bullet lodged in their spine.

Kindle could hear voices in the corridor behind him, the rumbling bass tones of Doctor Bertram. For some reason, that idiot Keller was smiling. Kindle advanced, glowering.

"Something funny, dipshit?" There was a click, and a hiss. Whatever was attached to the vault controls gave a beep and partially detached. Keller's smile grew manic.

"Yeah, I uh, the thing. It's automatic. I wasn't doing anything on that keyboard. Just wanted to make you think it stopped. I never start what I ca-" Kindle clubbed Harry Keller across the temple with his pistol. There was a wet thud and Harry went down, moaning, clutching the lump that was swelling before Kindle's eyes. But he was barely registering that. Other people were crowding into the entrance, security, nurses, technicians, watching as the doors of Vault 121 withdrew, and with a great grinding clank, slid open. In the distance, emergency alarms were sounding, announcing a communist breach and the activation of protocols that had never seen use in over 200 years. But everyone's eyes were on the other side of the vault door where a dozen men clutching rifles stood gaping at them, all clad in what were unmistakably military uniforms for the People's Republic of China.


	2. Buried

"What in heaven…" Kindle squinted at the figures beyond the now open vault door. Their snow gear was dirty and disheveled, and around each of their arms was a band proudly displaying their allegiance to China. Their rifles were not nearly as uniform; Kindle caught a glimpse of a handful of the old Type 93 assault rifles as well as a handful of laser rifles. One of them raised his hand in what Kindle assumed was either a greeting or a salute. It turned out that it was actually a tragedy, as the vault laser turrets popped out of the walls and floor, and one of them cut his arm off below the elbow.

"Shoot to kill!" someone screamed behind Kindle, and the assembled vault dwellers who had weapons joined in the fighting. Blood and screams filled the air as the Chinese soldiers took up positions behind the vault door and returned fire, lasers and rifle rounds trained on the turrets, which began to fizzle and explode under the impressive deluge. More soldiers were streaming in from deeper behind the Vault door, screaming unintelligibly.

Kindle had tried to fire at the incoming crowd, but found that his blood coated gun had jammed, probably damaged after almost caving in Keller's skull. Kindle almost panicked at this, but then he looked down at the still bleeding form of Keller and managed to panic all the way, booking it back into the entry hall.

The hallway was bathed in an eerie red glow, the emergency lights having activated. Most of the vault's power generators were now being diverted to assist with emergency evacuation. Corridors left untouched since the shutting of the vault would now be opening. Kindle thought about this and then puked on a nearby wall. Gathering himself, he sprinted for the door and then slipped on something. He glanced down at his shoes.

"Oh…" It was a small puddle of blood left by the chief. Next to it was his loaded, semi-automatic shotgun. Kindle glanced back at where he had come from. He could now very definitely hear far more lasers, and far more screaming than he could a few seconds ago. He snatched up the shotgun, strode to the door, and opened it.

The turrets had all been destroyed, and all but two of his fellow guards were now lying stiff in piles of their dismembered limbs, while Chinese troops in basic power armor were now striding through the entrance. So Kindle closed the door, locked it, vomited again, and then turned around and made for the medbay again.

Doctor Bertram was pale and his sleeves were bloody. He had Cable on the operating table, unconscious. The nurses were nowhere to be seen. Everything was cast in the hellish red glow, though Bertram had strapped on a headlamp. He glanced at Kindle.

"Bad?" The doctor's voice was flat, emotionless. Kindle tried to respond but only managed a choking noise and the expulsion of some saliva. The doctor just nodded.

"I'm not abandoning anyone. You need to evacuate…" Bertram moved to a nearby cabinet and pulled out some pill bottles before handing them to Kindle's shaking hands. The pills began to rattle. "You'll need these…God knows if there is anyone up there, but even if you die alone and irradiated…at least you won't be hurtin' inside."

"Th- thank-"

"Run. Get others out if you can, John. Go." The gunshots had stopped, and muffled banging could be heard coming from the hallway. They were going to force their way into the vault. So John Kindle pocketed the pills and ran for the stairs, descending them as quickly as his hips would allow.

He met a panicked Farley on the staircase, trying to direct traffic to the fifth level by alternately screaming and sobbing at them. He saw Kindle and ran up a few stairs to meet him.

"What the fuck is going on?! Are we breached?! Is it Chinese?"

"Doors opened! Chinese!" Kindle managed to choke back, his voice sounding shrill even to his ears.

"What?! Where's Cable? We need-" The vault rocked as a distant boom rocketed an echo through the staircase. There were a few screams as several people took tumbles down the staircase. Farley cursed. "Goddamn it! Who's on the cameras? Kindle, get on the frequency and help out with the defense. I'm going to get everyone to the emergency tunnels. Do what you can and meet me there." He clapped a sweaty hand on Kindle's shoulder and began moving with the crowd. Kindle turned his Pipboy radio on and heard news that was not good for his blood pressure.

"Mother of God, first level breached. They've taken the medbay and the turrets aren't giving them a problem. Countin' at least thirty – no, forty-" There was another shake and Kindle struggled to remain on his feet while he staggered to the Atrium. The officer manning the security station continued, breathlessly. "They've got power armor and I think Stealth Boys. They're moving slowly though – I think they left a lot of dead by the entrance."

When Kindle got to the Atrium, he was immediately greeted by about a dozen security guards that had impressively managed to clear the place out. Officer Lemon greeted him. She had apparently hit the armory as he could see several frag grenades lining her belt, and she was clasping one of the vault's few still working laser rifles.

"Kindle! Where's the chief?"

John paused, and failed to formulate anything more coherent than, "They got 'im."

"You came to fight, officer?" Kindle could not see Lemon's face in the dull red glow, but her voice sounded worried.

"I…'s what we're for. What I've done for…" Kindle's grip on Cable's shotgun began to slip and he had to readjust.

"Too long, I think," Lemon sounded blunt, "You've done crowd control. You're 62. You know where you'd be best placed."

"With the others…" He could hear lasers, gunshots, and screams from the floor above him. He shivered. Lemon clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"They're not fighting to win up there. And that was not our intention down here either. We cleaned out the armory already, you're looking at our best troops in here…what's the chief's shotgun going to do against power armor?" She didn't wait for an answer, "Get to the hallways. Get our people safe. We'll give these red bastards something to bleed about right here…get them safe. Run." She pushed Kindle and he took off for the staircase.

…

When he was younger, Kindle used to spend a lot of time wondering what lay beyond the emergency sealed blast doors. It never occurred to him that should they be needed, he would be in no state to enjoy the satiation of that curiosity. He sprinted through them without incident, arriving in a vast lobby filled with vault residents. The room smelled of sweat, fear, and rather suspiciously like shit as well. The officer on the radio was going nuts now, almost screaming.

"I've sealed the room, but they're trying to get in. I've sealed the room, but they're coming. I think they're disabling cameras, second floor is taken, I can't see what's happened. There's fighting in the Atrium, I think they're holding. We-" The microphone gave a loud thud and the sounds of a scuffle could be barely heard through his Pipboy. Then there was only dull static. Kindle switched off the radio and tried to find Farley in the press of people. He couldn't see any other officers, so he grabbed the nearest resident.

"WHERE'S FARLEY?" Kindle bellowed into the scared woman's face. She pointed at a corner where a security officer was slumped over with a nasty gash over his face, being tended to by a nurse. Kindle barged over, a lump growing in his throat. The nurse glanced up.

"Nasty fall down the stairway. Mild concussion," the nurse reported mildly, "If you would kindly get those main doors open, I believe that's the exit." He sounded oddly calm. Kindle suspected that he might have grabbed some medicine from the medbay and…sampled it. Farley's unfocused eyes rolled on to Kindle's face.

"Don't have access. Don't have access. Need card. You got…?" He grimaced. "Ow. Some idiot pushed me. Get doors open. We'll make a run…"

"You didn't have the card?" The Emergency Access keycard was required to be on all security officer's persons at all times. This particular, rather extreme instance was a perfect example as to why that was the case. Farley laughed.

"I was off-duty. You're…lucky I have pants. Just go. Go!" His voice was hoarse, and the finger he was pointing to a door was unsteady. The vault rumbled again, and children began screaming.

_What in God's name are they using all of these explosives on?_ Kindle wondered before grimly concluding, _Us._

The door required the security card, which took Kindle three tries to successfully swipe he was shaking so badly. The room beyond was little more than a small office with a massive window, bathed in that red light that Kindle was rapidly growing to hate with a fearful passion. The door slid shut behind him and he examined the console that took up most of the room, shining his Pipboy light on it.

"Wow…" The light had illuminated a sign that read **Tramway Control Substation**, and the window beyond revealed several old, but miraculously still functional looking trains that stretched far away down into dark tunnels. If he couldn't still hear the sounds of people screaming in the room just behind him, he would have been frozen in awe. Instead he turned on the console.

"Tram controls…" he muttered, hitting the prompt. "Powered…" He looked at the console. He blinked, swallowed, looked again.

**Whoops! It looks like we've encountered an error. Power Generator Status: Offline. Please contact the nearest Vault technician for assistance. Have a wonderful day! –Vault-Tec**

"BASTARDS!" Kindle roared, hammering his fists against a nearby wall. "BASTARDS BASTARDS BASTARDS!" His breath caught in his throat and he choked out a dry, hysterical sob. Then he took a deep breath, and turned back to the computer. He looked through options, went to the help menu. It helpfully informed him to contact the nearest available vault technicians and Kindle almost put his fist through the window. His heart was pounding.

"Gotta…gotta gotta gotta do this. C'mon please don't…" A woman screamed from the next room over, shrill and piercing. Then a whole lot of people joined in.

"Commie b-" whoever the defiant Vault dweller was, they were cut off by a deafening bang, followed by several more. Kindle picked up the shotgun and turned, made for the door. There was a flash of light and a loud ringing sound.

When Kindle woke up, everything was quiet. His head hurt, his back hurt, and his trousers were soaked in something warm. There was just the dull red emergency light, and even then as Kindle watched, it flickered and died, leaving him buried under the earth in total darkness.


	3. All Aboard

Aside from the gentle moan and clank of very old machinery shifting in place, all Kindle could hear was his own subdued breathing. He kept the breath steady to fight very justifiable panic, but his heart was beginning to pound. He closed his eyes and found there was no difference in terms of what he could see. His back and right shoulder were aching.

He sat up, turned on the PipBoy light, grimaced. The entrance to the small office had been smashed and then apparently fused shut by an incredible amount of heat. He thought he could see faint curls of smoke wafting off of what was left of the frame, but it could easily have been the jumping shadows cast off by his lone PipBoy. His head pounded, and when he checked his temple he found it swollen and slick with a trickle of blood. That probably had not been what Kindle had been lying in, however.

Initial attempts to stand were fruitless. His head was swimming and the immense darkness was not helping with his sense of balance and perspective. For twenty minutes a weary old man locked beneath the earth struggled to rise to his feet, three times falling and wondering what point there was to continue. When at last he stood, it was with a hand on the cursed computer that was still telling him to find a Vault Technician.

Kindle ignored the computer and instead shone his light on the window, peering at what lie beyond.

"Trains." Great, rusted, preserved trains. He glanced again at the computer, began searching through other options.

**Activate Railways: Railways offline, check power generator status. **

**Open Primary Access Doors: Offline, check power generator status.**

Both naturally told Kindle to locate a technician, and both times he spat darkish spit on to the monitor. He began looking for other options. The shotgun was still lying dormant on the floor, and Kindle picked it up gingerly. He looked at the windows, which he suspected were supposed to be bulletproof. Fortunately, Kindle knew the weakness of Vault technology. Budget cuts.

He fired once and almost burst his ear drums it was so loud. The gun rattled in his hand as he tried to keep hold of the weapon after it fired. The window shattered outward, disturbing a centuries long stillness. Kindle vaulted the now broken window as carefully as possible, treating the remaining jagged glass with the respect it deserved. He turned to his left, shining his light on the wall that separated the tramway from the emergency evacuation area. There was no way through. He followed the wall lengthwise, running his hairy knuckled against it while shining his light forward to look for anything he might trip on or could use.

The wall ended abruptly. The space between the office and the opposite of the tramway was nothing but space, rails, and train.

Electing not to give up just yet, Kindle then returned to the office, wincing as he cut his pinky while clambering over the broken window, and approached the melted slag heap cautiously. There was a small space still open between the office and the area beyond, but Kindle could not see anything beyond it.

"Hey," he said, his voice sounding raspy and strained to his own ears. He coughed once and went louder this time. "HEY! It's John! Officer Kindle! Anyone out there?!" He already knew the answer. _Two hundred years of history and safety…wiped out in the space of what was to many supposed to be a drunken afternoon. _There was a terrible sense of emptiness, and Kindle glanced down at the shotgun. _Loud._ He felt for the pills Bertram had given him. _Quiet_. Tempting, as always, but when he felt for the pills he brushed the empty holster for his pistol. Then he looked down at his uniform, his security uniform. _If I am the last one, this is where the legacy of Vault 121 ends. In the dark, in shame. And if I'm not…then I'm the last one free._

"_There isn't a sun left to see John…"_

Kindle spat, stood up straight.

"Those were healthy looking Chinamen if they've been dwelling on fuckin'…cave dwelling mushrooms all their life. Outside the vault. In power armor." He had a shotgun, some armor, and a PipBoy. It was dark, he was guilty, he was alone. And now he was moving.

Kindle followed the tracks as far as he could, the light bobbing back and forth as he moved. But a few hundred feet past where the trains ended were three massive steel doors blocking the way. Probably the primary access doors the computer had mentioned. Unfortunately Vault-Tec had not skimped in this particular area as the doors actually did look solid enough to stop a blast.

Undeterred, but still growing rather nervous about the idea of dying in the dark, Kindle looked to the walkways on either side of the tram. On his side, the office's side, there was nothing. Opposite however, he found a door. Above it was an unpowered (and thus unlit) sign that Kindle shone his light on slowly and read, letter by letter.

** MAINTENANCE ACCESS**

It was more to go on then he had a few minutes ago, and the door was fortunately a simple "wood" and handle affair, there was no worry about having to call a Vault Technician because it was unpowered. He strode through into a blackness of even greater pitch.

The light wobbled and shook as he stepped forward carefully, shotgun slung over back, his hand outstretched to feel out anything nearby. The maintenance access area appeared to be a series of tunnel-like hallways, likely easily navigable in the light, near impossible to do in the dark, dishearteningly unlikely with a sole PipBoy light. He crept forward step by step, eventually finding a wall and feeling along it.

There was another door on the wall he was feeling along, the rough dirty steel gave away to "wood." He found the handle and opened it, shone a light inside. Looked like some kind of managerial office, complete with desk and old computer. He entered, feeling all too strangely as if he were trespassing in some way.

Then John Kindle thought he heard something behind him once he was through the threshold. A snuffling, and then the sound like someone was walking across kitchen tile barefoot…all stinky and padding. He closed his eyes and turned, heart pounding, to where he thought the noise was coming from.

Nothing. The area ahead had an intersection, and a sign that Kindle could see maybe three letters of. He would read the rest after he convinced himself he was hearing things by closing the door gently, locking it, hyperventilating for a few minutes.

_There is a sun there is a sun there is a sun…_

The noise had faded away. Kindle approached the desk and found the computer still operable. He turned it on, vowing to (quietly) smash it if there was so much as a mention of calling for Vault Technicians.

**Powered on**

**Terminal of Rhonda Chen, Head of Vault Maintenance**

There were a list of dates after this, entries on maintenance reports. The first was dated **January 10****th****, 2077**, while the last was dated **October 25****th****, 2077.**

_Alaskan liberation…all the way to just past the Great War. _Kindle could not really work up the enthusiasm to be excited. He had read firsthand accounts before from long dead vault residents, and there were definitely…bigger concerns. Nevertheless, it was not like he was going to get another chance at reading this terminal, and there was always the chance of finding something useful.

**Jan 10**

**It's official. Chinese boots no longer pollute American soil…was getting sick of all of those drills. Reset the terminal to show that it is a new age – one where the Chinese cannot set foot on the red white and blue. **

**The tramway is still in good shape. No way in hell they're going to have to worry about any extensive environmental damage should the worst come to the worst. But seriously now…like hell it will! This war's all but won.**

The next few entries were further patriotic garbage and a few notes about minor tune-ups in the tramline. Kindle skimmed over them and skipped to the last entry.

"Oh god damn…"

**October 25****th**** 2077**

**Dear Vault bastard/bitch, whoever you are. I don't know if anyone is ever going to read this. But if anyone ever does, and you're from 121:**

**FUCK YOU. **

**FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.**

**FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.**

**I've been handling maintenance on these tunnels for years. I was BORN in Montana. Then the bombs drop and your vault is supposedly under capacity due to some idiots not even running for the hills, and my team and I still don't get access. Why?! The shape of our goddamn eyes?! Cause I didn't pay to get in?! Cause this was basically a hush-hush labor camp that you want to forget about? **

**I don't know. I don't care. So here's the deal.**

**I'll let you live in the fucking vault. But you're not leaving the way you came in. You're not coming out this way. You so happy in there? I've disabled the power generators, powered off everything. We're dying alone and in the dark down here…and I hope that one day some of your children join us.**

**God bless America. I'll see you in hell.**

…**but on the offchance you're not from the Vault, or maybe you're WEALLY WEALLY SOWWY about what your parents have done, I left the auxiliary power generators online. They leak radiation something awful, so I would be quick when you throw that switch…and by the way, they've only got enough juice for a one way trip on the tram. **

**Vault 121 left thirty-five Chinese American citizens to die down here. Whoever you are…remember that.**

**Happy trails. **

"Wonderful." Kindle powered off the computer and stood. _Sins of the fathers…_ He patted the computer, trying to think of what the hell he would say to Rhonda if he was standing before him just now. "Sorry. I…yeah. Sorry." He understood her position. If the auxiliary generator wasn't working or he couldn't find it or…that other thing, his skeleton might end up next to hers, wherever it was. He walked back to the door, his light at the ready, pressed his ear to the "wood."

Nothing.

Remembering the intersection, he found the sign. The right lead to living quarters, leading Kindle to wonder just how long Rhonda and her people had lived down here maintaining trains, and the left lead to the auxiliary and primary power generators for the access tramway. He followed that one, treading lightly.

The light from his PipBoy was meagre yet precious, and the hallway seemed to stretch on and on. Out of curiosity Kindle looked backwards, away from the light. There was just darkness behind him, swallowing all hint of distance and progress. He gulped and continued, trying to think of something that would let him focus on something else and calm his nerves.

"Heartaches by the number," he breathed, his voice a scratch above a whisper, "Troubles by the score. Every day you'd love me less…"

_Thud. Pad. Thud._

_Each day I'd love you more._ It was behind him again. It sounded slow enough, and probably unaware, assuming he was not imagining things. He continued forward, coming to another intersection, shining on the sign, heading left.

"Yes I got heartaches by the number…" _Thud. Pad. _He thought he heard a kind of gargling sound, but it was faint. It didn't sound healthy. "A love that I can't win…" He reached another "wood" door, and opened it as softly as it would allow. His Geiger counter on the PipBoy was crackling, making more noise than Kindle was comfortable with, and also encouraging him to speed up. He wasn't comfortable with that either. But he could see a console. He stepped forward and booted it up.

**Emergency Lighting: 0% Power**

**Tramway: 0% Power**

**Trains: 0% Power**

**Primary Access Doors: Sealed, 0% Power**

**Activate emergency generators? **

_God yes._ Kindle hit the button. There was a loud buzzing sound that drowned out the Geiger counter, and then the lights began activating all over with a resounding clank. The office was bathed in strong, sterile lighting, and Kindle now got a good glance at the generators beyond the office.

"Oh…" The floor was strewn with old bones. He could see arms, legs, a few skulls, a few hands. "They came here to die…" They came to die…but why did it look like they'd been disturbed recently, and repeatedly?

_Something's nesting here._

There was a loud, gurgling scream, and the sounds of muffled thrashing.

John Kindle's head hurt. His back hurt. Vault 121 was gone. He was being poisoned by radiation. He was tired.

"But the day that I stop counting…" He unslung his shotgun, powered off the now redundant Pipboy light. He wasn't helpless. He was scared shitless. But he could see. He could shoot. "That's the day my world will end!"

He opened the door and rounded the corner. The thrashing sounded further off, the shrieking was diminishing in volume. He pushed forward, striding through the hallway with a mad gleam in his eye. The screaming suddenly stopped. An automated voice over the intercom spoke.

"Attention! The **VAULT ONE. TWENTY. ONE. **Emergency tram system is now fully functional! All aboard trains **ONE. TWO. THREE. **Primay access doors, opening! We hope you have had a pleasant stay at **VAULT ERROR INVALID SEQUENCE.**"

There was a brief moment of quiet, followed by several not so brief moments of terrible screaming. It was coming from everywhere in the maintenance area, floors, wall, ceiling it felt like. Kindle brought a hand to his ear and began dashing dashing dashing to the trains.

Screams followed him, and he began to hear the sounds of heavy gaits padding across tiled floor. He threw the "wood" doors shut behind him, catching a glance of several silhouettes, humanoid but too close to the floor. When he made it to the train, the entire area was bathed in light, the trains waiting. He picked the closest one, the doors opening automatically. Something was clawing the door to the maintenance area.

_Why isn't it going?!_

Kindle ran past the rows of metallic seats and made it to the conductor's seat. A key card slider was blinking a red light at him. It took him a few moments, but the loud bang as the maintenance door was beaten in brought him back to his senses. He produced the card and slid it, tapping his fingers against the console all the while.

"C'mon…WORK GODDAMIT!"

"Emergency override at Train **THREE** has been accepted. All aboard!" The cheery automated message finished with the train giving a lurch, pulling free from the over two hundred year old shackles. Kindle fell against the wall in surprise, and then decided to just stay there, taking deep breaths. The screaming had intensified, but the train was moving, picking up speed quickly.

He leaned there against the wall for a while, slowly calming down as the train tunneled through the old rail system at an impressive speed. Actually it seemed to be speeding up. A voice crackled over the intercom. An old message, left by a woman.

"You had the card. Vault 121 citizen – a guard? Doesn't matter. Welcome to the crazy train, fucker. I cut the brakes." The train was very much going faster now, and Kindle's frantic card swiping wasn't doing anything. Despairing laughter sounded over the intercom, the culmination of a revenge plot over two hundred years old.


	4. Crash

The long dead lady's laughter was abruptly drowned out with the shrieking of metal. There was a deafening crash as the front of the train careened into something and derailed. Kindle was thrown backwards, barely managing to avoid a head injury. Unfortunately the carriage he had been launched into then flipped over, and Kindle lost all recollection of what happened for some time afterward.

When his senses were regained, Kindle was lying on his back. It was dark, no sun, which would have disheartened Kindle had he not looked at his chest.

"Ah…" A piece of rebar, probably thrown from the crash, was lying embedded in his right side. He stared at it, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. He gripped it, found his hands slick with blood…and let go. He could not stand. He had no idea where he was. If he pulled it out, it was more than likely that he would bleed to death in minutes if he was lucky, hours if he was not. There was little sensation.

"There is no sun…" He coughed, wiped his mouth, smiled. There were stars though, and the aurora dancing above him was more than beautiful enough to die happy on. He hardly felt cold. Hardly felt pain. He closed his eyes…and immediately became startled as something rustled nearby. Bleeding to death peacefully under an aurora was acceptable; getting torn to pieces by mutated animals was decidedly another matter. He strained his eyes in the direction of the noise, groaning at the sudden stab of pain in his abdomen. There were two indistinct figures, tall and hulking. They trudged towards him, their boots crunching through the frost forming in the grass.

Kindle considered calling for help, but they had already seen him. Even if he wasn't already in such a compromised and helpless state, he had no idea where the shotgun had gone – it was likely now bent and useless, stuck under part of the train. If they were friendly, he need not say anything. If they weren't…he could no longer hide, and any attempts at coercion would be laughable. They came into view.

Whatever they were wearing was shapeless, and in the dark Kindle could not make out the color, but it was clear that they had some sort of camo gear, and they both had gas masks. In their arms was a rifle, each. They separated and stood, one just past Kindle's foot and the other past his head, out of his line of vision unless Kindle strained his neck. He focused instead on the figure that would cause him the least amount of pain, trying not to stare at his gun.

"Isn't this a sight? To hear such a noise in the middle of nowhere and find this…" That was the voice behind Kindle, male. It sounded muffled under the gas mask, but the tone still clearly lacked any real amusement and only mild interest at best.

"Don't hear of too many trains out here. Don't hear much of anything," The figure he was staring at was in fact a woman. Kindle would never have been able to tell in the dark, under all of the clothing. "Watching and waiting, recon for the Yukon…"

"Quiet," the man said sharply, "You don't know who this is."

"A dead man? Dressed like that in October? I say we owe him a bullet. Help him along." The woman shifted her rifle, pointing it squarely at Kindle's chest.

"Ah," Kindle said, sweating, "Ah…"

"Bullets are expensive. And we don't need to make too much noise. I'd say cold will get there before the blood loss. We've got plenty of time."

"Who are you people?" Kindle managed to choke out as the woman lowered the gun. She gave a snort.

"None of your business. Be a dear and try to be quiet."

In the face of imminent death, Kindle decided that coercion was worth a try after all.

"I'll scream."

The man crept into his vision and carefully put a heavy boot on Kindle's neck. He didn't say anything.

"You could just finish it right here," the woman said, obviously impatient, "Hurry it up and we can get back to camp."

"I said we had time enough, I didn't say for what," growled the man back, "I'm sure this man's got an interesting story to tell. And he'll tell it quiet. Won't you?"

Kindle could feel his Adam's apple already experiencing discomfort as it rubbed up against the rubber of the man's boot sole. "Yeah…"

"Good." The boot was removed. "Saw a lot of the wreckage. Some sort of crash – looks like you were thrown clear. What was it? Sabotage attempt? Who are you with?"

"Vault."

"Vault?" The woman tilted her head, sounded confused.

"Vault one…twenty one. One twenty-one. Trying to escape."

The man looked at his partner, who shrugged. "Wait here." The pair of them put some distance between Kindle and themselves and began conversing. When Kindle tried to listen in, it didn't sound like English, but the vault security officer knew he was not in the most lucid of states. He stared up at the shifting lights in the sky, marveling at how open everything was, wondering if he would just float away…

He was slapped back into his senses by a gloved hand.

"We're not done. You with the Americans?" It was the man again. He sounded excited.

Kindle was not sure what the purpose of the question was, was almost certain that any interpretation he would have would be incorrect. He gave the best answer he could.

"I'm…American. Chinese took the vault."

"Did they now?" The man's interest was clearly picking up. His partner was standing behind him, clearly listening intently. "So you're American, but probably not with…huh."

"If the Chinese have your vault," the woman said, "The captives will be taken north, up into the Arctic regions where they're holed up. American citizens…captured." She looked at her partner, who nodded.

"This isn't going to stand. Word needs to get out." The woman extended a hand and Kindle took it on impulse. He was hauled to his feet and supported by the woman.

"We can get you somewhere safe…a town nearby, Fourflags. But we're on recon. For America. We'll get you part way, past that it's up to you, citizen."

Kindle only nodded, wiped some drool off of his face. His hands felt numb and stiff. He suspected that he was actually far closer to freezing to death than his body was telling him. He was grateful regardless.

He was half helped, half dragged along by the two scouts for an indeterminate period, only aware of his own lightheadedness and how warm he felt. When they came to an abrupt stop he fell over, slipping out of the woman's arms.

"We could roll him down the hill," he heard the woman suggest through the roaring blood coursing through his head, "They'd probably see him."

The man grunted. Kindle was hauled to his feet and he could dimly see that the man had brought Kindle face to face with him.

"You can't say a word about us down there…I'm going to deal you solid, and help. Just get to Fourflags, and don't say a word about us, alrighty?"

Kindle smiled. He could see her face, see her beckoning.

There was a sudden pressure on his arm. He looked down and saw a strange looking syringe pressing into his vein.

There was a fresh surge of adrenaline.

"What the…?"

"You owe me, Psycho's expensive. Run. RUN!" The man shoved Kindle. Kindle, to his surprise, kept his feet. Whatever was in the syringe was potent. He turned and saw the silhouettes of buildings, down the slope of the hill. He turned one last time.

"There is a sun, right?"

The man muttered to the woman who shrugged.

"There's a sun," she said, "But you'll be seeing a lot less of it in the coming months. Say nothing about this and, if you can, get to Anchorage." She paused, apparently thinking. "Good luck, I guess."

"Yeah," Kindle said, turning and beginning to stagger with all speed towards the buildings, "God bless America…" He coughed, pain throbbing in his abdomen again. Even with the drug he was not certain how long he could keep this up. But if America still lived…

"I'm going to make it," he breathed, the silhouettes growing nearer, "I'm going to make it."

John Kindle didn't quite make it, but someone saw him coming and helped him the rest of the way.


End file.
